


We Could Be Heroes

by Tamoline



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Jessica doesn't, Role Reversal, Trish has the powers, Warning for past Kilgrave, not particularly graphic, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamoline/pseuds/Tamoline
Summary: Months after Kilgrave, months of Jessica worrying over Trish, and Trish decides that she wants to start that heroing shit up again.Just typical.





	We Could Be Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Netgirl_y2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/gifts).



Jessica forgets, just for a second. It’s just a second, but it’s enough time for her to use the wrong arm to support herself as she overbalances a little sitting down on the couch. Her reward is a flare of pain shooting up the offending limb; a muttered curse followed by a furtive look in Trish’s direction.

 

Trish is expressionless, but her jaw is working and she’s very determinedly looking at the TV, which means she definitely did see Jessica’s slip. 

 

Fuck. Just what today needs. She’s already tired from the day job and worrying about Trish in general and…

 

Fuck it. “I’m stepping out for a few minutes,” she announces to the room. Trish grunts and — for possibly the thousandth time in the past three or four months — Jessica wishes that she knew what to say or do, that she was better with this touchy-feely crap.

 

But she’s not. Never has been since she moved in with Trish and her mother after the car accident that killed the rest of her family. Not even when Trish was almost killed in a car accident of her own that pretty much ended her career as Patsy. Not even after… afterwards.

 

Fuck.

 

She stops just outside the apartment block, slams the back of her head against the concrete of the building so hard she sees stars, and reaches inside her jacket for the flask of whisky she keeps hidden there. She can’t drink inside — it wouldn’t be fair to Trish after the latest trip to rehab — and there aren’t many nights she feels comfortable leaving Trish alone. No matter how much Trish tells her that she doesn’t need to hover, that Trish is *fine* and Jessica should just go live her life.

 

She takes a slug and lets it burn its way down her throat. Maybe she’ll stay out here a quarter of an hour or so. Enough time to take the edge off things. Hopefully enough time for Trish to calm down a little.

 

Her phone goes and she groans when she sees who it is.

 

“Yes, Jeri,” she says.

 

“I’ve got an urgent job for you to do,” comes the silken response.

 

“Can it wait for the morning?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Jeri wouldn’t be phoning her at this time if it could.

 

After she gets the details — apparently a high paying client has a hot tip that his husband is off cheating now, now, now — she texts Trish.

 

 _B out a few hours_ , she sends and then adds, _Jeri,_ by way of explanation.

 

A few seconds she gets the response: _K_

 

She figures that’s about as good as she’s going to get and heads off. 

* * *

There are times she really hates that she accepted the in-house position at Jeri’s firm. But it’s a regular paying job, and that’s what they need to keep the apartment so she deals.

 

She comes home to find a trail of blood. A dull roar immediately starts in her ears and honest-to-god spots appear in her vision before she tracks down Trish bandaging her left shoulder in the kitchen.

 

Trish looks up as Jessica stands in the doorway, able to breathe for the first time since she first saw the blood. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says a little sheepishly.

 

“What the hell?” yells Jessica, finding her voice. “What the absolute fucking hell? I leave for, what, three hours and I came home to find you bleeding?” She moves over to Trish to take over from the shoddy job she’s been doing one-handed. She unwinds the bandage to properly pack the gauze and finds… “A fucking bullet hole, Trish? What, did you take a walk down the street, fall and trip on a gun or something?”

 

Trish looks away, guilt written all over her features. “It’s not like I don’t heal quickly enough,” she mutters.

 

“You didn’t,” Jessica says, the twisting in her stomach causing her words to come out that much harsher. “You fucking didn’t. You told me you were done with this bullshit nonsense. You *promised*.” She tries to pretend like there aren’t tears in her eyes, like her hands aren’t shaking as they bandage Trish up, tight and neat, just like she used to when Trish was… “We even fucking burned that stupid costume after-“ She stops, too late, as Trish tenses up, rock solid beneath her hands.

 

“After Kilgrave,” Trish says flatly. She takes a breath, holds it and Jessica just bets that she’s reciting those four fucking stupid streets like that quack taught her to.

 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

She’s so fucking stupid sometimes. Can’t do anything right. Not with Trish, not anymore. She just freezes, waits until Trish gives her some indication about what she’s supposed to do.

 

“Are you going to tie that off?” Trish asks quietly, eventually, and Jessica has never been so grateful to tie a fucking knot.

 

“Come on,” she says and gives Trish a hand up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

 

“I’m fine,” Trish protests half-heartedly but accompanies Jess to her bedroom anyway.

 

Jessica’s hovering in the doorway, torn between giving Trish her privacy and not quite being willing to let her out of her sight just yet when Trish quietly says, “I don’t regret stopping that mugging I happened across, you know. It’s the most I’ve felt myself since.”

 

Jessica closes her eyes for a moment, unable to handle this. Because of course that’s the way Trish feels. Impossibly heroic Trish who’s never been able to turn away from using her powers to help people.

 

God knows what Jessica would do if she had super strength and the ability to jump so far it’s practically flying. Probably do tricks down the local bar to get cheap alcohol.

 

And because she’s always had a hard time denying Trish anything, she opens her eyes again. “Well, try to plan it out better so you don’t get shot next time, okay?”

 

Trish gives her a proper radiant smile in response. Not the first one since that British fucker, but they’re still rare enough that Jessica treasures each and every one. “Are you volunteering to help keep me out of trouble then?”

 

Jessica rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s face it — who else is up to the task?”

 

Trish sticks her tongue out and — just for a moment — it feels like they’re back to normal for once.

* * *

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where’s a nice safe target that Trish can hit without being in too much danger? She’s an official private investigator. Surely it couldn’t be that hard to find something, baby steps wise.

 

Then again, scouting out trouble for Trish to punch had been how she’d discovered that she had a talent for this gig, to begin with. And Trish’d had that stupid costume, which she’d gotten kevlar lined so bullets would be less of a problem. And… and… and…

 

Jessica hadn’t been as terrified for Trish as she was now. Stupid dumb kid that she’d been, she hadn’t known how badly it could go wrong. Thought the worst that could happen was some punk getting lucky with a knife, which Trish would laugh off, because of course she would.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

No costume now, not that Trish would wear it even if it was still around. Not enough money to get a new one, not after Trish lost her job, got that fucker in a purple suit all kinds of expensive gifts and then had to pay for rehab when she fell off the wagon afterwards. Not even enough money to get Jessica’s arm properly fixed, not that she would have accepted any money Trish tried to give her at that point.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

Time to see if her old friends down the precinct would still talk to her.

* * *

Jessica slouched up to Sergeant Muller’s desk. “Hey,” she said. “How’re you doing?”

 

Muller looked up, her face brightening momentarily before hiding it beneath her display of customary cynicism. “Jones,” she drawled. “Been a time since I saw you around here.” Her eyes fastened upon the greasy paper bag that Jessica was holding. “Really, Jones, really? Buozzi’s pastries? I would have thought that as a properly employed dick you’d have access to a better class of bribes these days.”

 

“Yeah, well, maybe if it was for the job then I’d be able to afford something more. But I’m here looking for a different class of trouble.” Jessica looked significantly at her. “The old kind.”

 

Muller glanced frantically around before leaning closer to Jessica. “You’re asking for Hellcat? I thought she’d retired.”

 

Jessica shrugged. “Yeah, well, things have changed.”

 

“They sure have. Back when Hellcat was last knocking around, those kind of activities were fine. After the Incident, everyone loved New York having its own costumed superhero, looking after things and bashing heads that needed to be clobbered. Hell, it was an open secret around here that I could slip word to Hellcat, and I was almost a hero as well, just by association. Now? After the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen? I could by lynched if it got out I was helping.”

 

Jessica sighed. “Look, it’s not going to be in costume. No one’s going to know. I’m just looking for a name or two that I can look into. Nothing dangerous, just some people who might need some talking to. People the police don’t have the time to deal with. You really telling me that there’s no one like that around?”

 

Muller sighed heavily and took the bag from Jessica. “You’re killing me here, Jones.” She poked at her computer. “Okay, there’s a guy on here, Stevie Ballerat, that I don’t think anyone will mind Hellcat having a talk with.”

 

Jessica grinned at her, and retrieved her notebook to jot down details. “Thanks, Muller. You’re the best.”

* * *

“That’s him,” Jessica says.

 

“Roger,” comes Trish’s voice from the phone. “Operation Scare The Stalker is a go.”

 

Jessica sees Trish, hoody shrouding her face, step out into the road in front of the parked car. Most people would just make that look like a total pile of dicks, but Jessica thinks that she manages to somehow pull it off. She may just be biased, of course. So sue her.

 

“Hey,” Trish says, thumping on the hood of the car with one hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

The fuckhead in the car rolls down his window. “What the fuck do you think *you’re* doing?” he yells back. “Get the fuck off my car.”

 

Like she thought, total fuckhead.

 

“What I want you to do is to leave your ex-wife alone,” Trish says firmly. “The restraining order should have been a hint.”

 

Fuckhead revs his car in what Jessica’s fairly sure he thinks is a threatening manner. Trish responds by easily lifting the front of the car. Fuckhead does *not* take the hint and actually engages the back wheels — and his car swiftly ends up on its roof for his troubles.

 

Hell of thing, that Jessica is far less worried about cars than bullets.

 

Maybe not the most politic way she could have handled things, but ah well. Jessica isn’t exactly one to talk about being polite at the best of times.

 

“I hate stalkers,” Trish says conversationally as fuckhead crawls from his overturned vehicle. “Now, are you going to listen, or am I going to have to get serious?”

 

“Crazy fucking bitch,” he gasps. “What happened? Lost your Hellcat costume in the wash?”

 

For a moment Jessica freezes — she thinks Trish does too — before she realises that it’s just some asshole mouthing off. And then the car’s hoisted up in the air above Trish’s head, and her eyes are *burning*.

 

“Last chance, asshole,” she growls. “Walk away now, or I squash you like a bug.”

 

Well, fuck.

 

Jessica darts out. “Hey, hey, hey,” she says, trying to vaguely interpose herself between fuckhead and Trish. “I think he’s got the message.” She turns to him. “Right?”

 

“Right,” fuckhead says, nodding his head quickly. “Got it loud and clear.”

 

Trish is breathing heavily, eyes not looking at anything in the darkened street. For a moment, just for a moment, Jessica wonders if she’s going to end up squashed right along with the man beside her. 

 

Then Trish drops the car with a crash, bits of plastic cracking off it and scattering like confetti around the street. “Go,” she says, and fuckhead bolts.

 

Jessica waits a few seconds for fuckhead to get out of earshot, then whispers, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

 

Trish nods mutely and follows.

 

They manage to get just over a block away before Trish collapses against her. “Oh, god,” she whispers wetly against Jessica’s neck. “I could have killed him? Is that it? Am I broken?”

 

Jessica feels like snakes are crawling in her stomach. She fucking sucks at this touchy feely crap. But she manages to get an arm around Trish’s shoulders and give her a quick squeeze. “Fuck, no,” she whispers. “Are we really going to let some limey fuck do what your mother couldn’t?”

 

Trish half laughs, half sobs against her. “No,” she says. “I guess not.”

* * *

She wakes up that night, not really sure why, before she hears it again. A tapping on her door. She stifles a curse and pries open her eyes to see Trish looking pale and wan in the light from the street. “Did you mean it?” she asks quietly. “You’re going to help me do this again?”

 

Jessica groans loudly, reaches down to the ground and throws a dirty t-shirt in Trish’s vague direction. “Ugh. It’s too early for this. I’ll think about it, okay? In the morning.” She closes her eyes and mumbles, “If you let me go back to sleep.”

 

“Really?” Trish says, with such mingled hope and nervousness that Jessica really can’t help opening her eyes again. 

 

“Fine,” she says grumpily. “I’ll find some other opportunity for you to get your hero on. In the morning!” 

 

“Thanks,” Trish says, her whole body relaxing in a way that, goddamn it, affects Jessica more than it really should. “For doing this for me, for tonight, for just sticking with me, even though I’m complete mess. Even though I-” her mouth clicks shut, even though they can both hear the words she didn’t say.

 

“Christ,” Jessica says. “Do not make me get up to hug you.”

 

Trish just shakes her head, eyes wet.

 

“Sometimes I really hate you,” Jessica grumbles, even as she gets up. “Didn’t I just tell you not to make me do this?” She stiffly puts her arms around Trish in a way that she hopes indicates that this really isn’t her. No matter how many times it may have happened in the last several months. “Ugh,” she says. “Too early to do this standing. Come on,” she adds and tugs her towards the bed.

 

Trish follows and they both lay down together. Jessica likes to think they both sleep the sounder for it.

* * *

“I thought you said that Hellcat was just going to have a talk with him!” Muller hisses as soon as she plops down into the chair opposite Jessica in the diner.

 

“Talk had,” Jessica said blandly. “He complained?”

 

Muller rubbed the sides of her nose. “Christ, no. According to him, he had no idea about how his car got overturned. Apparently it must have been stolen. No other way it could have gotten to his ex’s street.”

 

“Good,” Jessica said, smirking slightly. “Case closed then, I guess.”

 

Muller stared at her. “Sometimes I really hate you, you know that, Jones?”

 

“I get told that a lot. It must be my winning ways. So, you got any more names for me? And maybe no stalkers, this time.”

 

Muller sighed heavily, and slipped her a piece of paper.  “I tell you, this diner better be as good as you’ve talked up.”

* * *

One of the less savoury products of Trish’s new determination to take her life back — from Jessica’s perspective anyway — is the fact that she’s decided to get back on the date train. Not that it’s a bad idea in principle… but Trish’s taste in men sucks at the best of times, and these ain’t that. So Jessica is staying in tonight — barring act of Jeri — to be there when the latest disaster ends.

 

Even odds he turns out to be a Patsy fanboy or someone interested in the juicy deets about Trish’s latest public fall off the wagon. Though if it’s another bastard who thinks it’d be a swell idea to offer her some pills to help the evening along, she swears that she’s going to hack Trish’s phone to get his number, and go and kneecap the fucker.

 

It gets to 10 before Jessica finally admits to herself that Trish probably isn’t going to give her a text for a rescue, or come back early ranting about what her crappy date did. Might not be coming back at all, in fact. She resists the urge to go and track her down, stifles the voice that says this is how it began last time, ignores all the screwed up panicky feelings she has around Trish that don’t have any right to be there and decides to go out and find someone to fill her own bed tonight.

 

It’s not hard. A lot of men aren’t partial to being asked bluntly if they want to come back to hers to fuck — something to do with diminishing their precious manhoods, or some shit like that — but enough are that she can always find a quick fuck if she doesn’t mind cycling through a few rejections first.

 

The result is… pretty much as expected. Mark? Mike? Matt? is… not exactly a sterling example of manhood, but, eh, it isn’t as though she’s a shining beacon of womanhood either. A little satisfaction — in several ways — and she’s more than ready to kick him out again. She’s just about settling down to go to sleep — what passes for a post-coital glow aiding her with that aim —  when she hears M-whatever say, “Hi! Say, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

 

Fuck.

 

She’s out of bed and wound like a spring before she can even really think. Trish is looking half freaked out, half pissed off, and M-whatever is standing there gormlessly, like he’s going to win a prize if he can just remember Trish.

 

“Thanks,” she snaps. “But your opinions on my house mate are neither wanted nor needed.” He’s bigger than her, but thankfully he doesn’t resist as she starts pushing him out of the door.

 

“Oh!” he exclaims just as she slams the door shut behind him. “It’s Patsy,” he says from the hallway, sounding far too pleased with himself.

 

Double fuck.

 

She slinks back to the living room.

 

“What the hell, Jess?” Trish says, now looking considerably more pissed than freaked. “I mean, what the actual hell? What’s the point in telling me to keep a low profile coming and going, if you’re just going to bring randoms back here?”

 

Jessica slouches and looks at the floor, giving a shrug by way of response. Truth be told, that had been the last thing on her mind. There’s even a small, vicious part of her that’s glad Trish was witness to this — look, she can have random hookup sex too now that Trish is feeling better.

 

“Is that all you’ve got for me?” Trish says, exasperation mixing with her anger.

 

And suddenly Jessica’s had enough, and she looks up and glares at her. “I get that you felt you got to be mom when it was your apartment, but this,” she gestures around the shabby place they currently call home, “This is my place. I’m paying, my rules. And if I want to invite people around, for whatever reason, I can!”

 

Trish reaches towards her — probably to try and calm her down or some touchy-feely shit like that — but, just for a moment, Jessica can’t help flinching away, hand going to cradle her bad arm. She can’t escape the look of hurt on Trish’s face before it gets sealed behind a blank wall, though, and immediately wishes she could take it all back.

 

“I’m not talking about this with you now,” Trish says with only a hint of fragility, before retreating inside her room and slamming the door loud enough that Jessica’s honestly a little surprised that it doesn’t come off its hinges.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

* * *

Jessica has a restless night’s sleep after that, tossing and turning. She finally gives the whole thing up as a bad job when she hears Trish moving around the apartment. The alarm was going to go off soon anyway.

 

“Sorry if I disturbed you,” Trish says when Jessica emerges.

 

She waves it off. “Thought I’d get up early for once.”

 

Trish briefly flashes a wan smile. “Jessica Jones? Getting up early? Jeri Hogarth really must have tamed you.”

 

Jessica’s mouth twitches but otherwise she doesn’t manage to muster the enthusiasm to respond. Uncomfortable silence settles over the apartment. Trish gets some cereal and slices up an apple. Jessica grabs a few slices of bread and picks at them, not even bothering to butter them.

 

“Sorry for what I said last night,” Jessica finally mumbles. “Didn’t mean it.” Sorry for bringing the guy back too, she thinks, but she can’t quite bring herself to say that.

 

Trish flashes her a brief, fragile smile. “No, you’re right. This is your place and…” she trails off. “I’m sorry too,” she lamely finishes.

 

Jessica hunches further in on herself. For a moment she thinks about bringing up the flinch, actually talking about it, but… Feelings have never been her strong point, so instead she repeats, “Sorry,” miserably and wishes she was anywhere other than here. And then — apparently because she hates herself — she says, “So I take it that your date last night wasn’t a total asshole.”

 

Trish relaxes a little and gives her a sincere, if small, smile. “Trust me, I was surprised as you are. She was actually so nervous it was a little sweet.”

 

Jessica blinks. “She?” She tries not to snap, thinks she mostly succeeds.

 

Trish seems to sense some of this, drops her gaze immediately and shrugs. “Well, I’ve pretty much detonated my career already, so I figured there couldn’t any harm in exploring my bisexuality.”

 

Which, naturally, is something about herself that she’s never mentioned to Jessica. Not that it’s like she has to. Not that it means anything. So Jessica just says. “Cool,” again and leaves it at that.

* * *

Jessica comes home just over a week later and she can tell something’s wrong as soon as she enters the apartment. For a start, it’s tidy and everything’s put away. 

 

It’s just unnatural.

 

But worse are the empty spaces, the places where things used to be. With a sinking sensation, she checks Trish’s room. It’s empty as well, and Trish is gone without so much as a note.

 

Jessica sinks down onto the couch in the living room, and tries to tell herself this shouldn’t be much of a surprise. It’s… Trish obviously needs some space, what with… everything, otherwise she would have told Jessica about this. 

 

Maybe more than space, a little voice within her whispers.

 

Maybe she’s finally done it. Finally driven away the one person she had never yet managed to push away.

 

Obviously, it was only a matter of time.

 

It really shouldn’t be that much of a surprise, after all.

 

But, but, but, the other fear whispers, sunk bone-deep since Trish’s last disappearance several months ago, maybe it’s not that at all. Maybe that limey fucker did survive, somehow, and now he’s back.

 

Maybe.

 

She fumbles out her phone with shaking hands. _Tell me yr ok_ , she texts.

 

 _Fine_ , Trish texts back a few minutes later. _Got my own place_

 

Okay, she tells herself to quiet her pounding heart. It’s okay. She’s fine.

 

Jessica can leave it a week before checking on Trish, if she hasn’t reached out by then. Or at least a few days. And tonight… tonight she’ll concentrate on making it until tomorrow, in this suddenly empty apartment.

 

Oh god, she thinks. This really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

* * *

Jessica fiddles restlessly with the salt shaker on the table in front of her as she glances around the cheap-ass diner.

 

Neutral ground. She wishes that Trish didn’t feel they needed it. Still, it’s better than the almost silence they’ve had between them for the last four days, nothing but texts and one phone call.

 

Maybe she’s a little overly dependent on Trish… but, fuck, she can’t help worrying. Trish is so often the strong one — metaphorically as well as literally — that Jessica can’t… she can’t…

 

Trish walks in and Jessica abandons the line of thought with relief. She waits until Trish has sat down, eyeing her uncomfortably, not seeming to know what to start with, until she’s ordered and even got her diner coffee, before asking casually, “So, how’re the new digs?” just as Trish is taking a sip.

 

Just as she’d hoped, Trish coughs and splutters. “You *bitch*,” she finally manages.

 

Jessica shrugs. “I try.”

 

“After all that buildup, *that’s* the question you lead with?”

 

“Was there something else you were expecting?”

 

Trish pauses for a second, looking into her mug. “I don’t know, really.” She rolls her eyes. “Just not that.”

 

“So?”

 

“It’s… not bad. Not that different to yours, really. Only with a little more mould included free of charge.”

 

“Wow, Trish. You’re really spoiling yourself.”

 

Trish shrugs uncomfortably. “Yes, well, the advance I got will only go so far.”

 

Jessica cocks her head. “Advance? The ever talented Trish Walker has decided to become a writer?”

 

Trish makes a face. “Not… as such. Given it’s going to take me a while to find a new job, given my *ever* so public flameout, I took some money from a publisher… for a ghostwriter to write a tell-all story about my childhood along with my more recent ‘difficulties’.”

 

“Fuck those bloodsuckers,” Jessica growls angrily. “Why did you… I could have lent you the cash.”

 

Trish looks down. “Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to. You’ve been wearing yourself to the bone in the last few months and I… I needed to do this. For myself.”

 

Which, okay, Jessica can respect that. Even if she really wishes she didn’t have to. “Yeah, well,” she says, pouring salt onto the table to make a trail. “You’re doing alright apart from that? See more of whatever her name was?” she asks begrudgingly.

 

“Zabel,” Trish says. “And… sort of? She’s nice, but I don’t really think we connected on a girlfriend type level.”

 

“Oh.” Good, Jessica thinks. “Too bad,” she offers instead of actually saying that.

 

“Not that she wasn’t a good kisser,” Trish muses, smirking a little at Jessica. “The test about whether I like girls definitely came back positive, but…”

 

“Ugh,” Jessica says, suppressing the sudden tension in her stomach and making a face. “I really do not need to hear about your exploits, any time ever.”

 

“Well, maybe you can extend me the same courtesy.” Jessica thinks that Trish is going for light, but it doesn’t quite come across that way.

 

“Yeah. Whatever,” she says. Changing the topic, she adds, “Don’t think that this is going to affect our whole crimefighting thing. You better not think about going out without me.”

 

Trish smiles, but it’s strained. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

There are times that the day job really interferes with the heroing shit. Or, more accurately, when it interferes with Jessica watching Trish’s back. 

 

Not that today should be much of a problem. Trish was going to intimidate some budding protection racketeers who were moving into Hell’s Kitchen now that the Crimson Peril had kicked the shit out of the resident organised crime gangs. Not that the fact that a costumed vigilante had been the one to do this had improved the — admittedly not inaccurately — jaundiced view the local community had of the NYPD. Especially with the scandals flying around.

 

So, in short, no existing gangs, no real opposition by the police — a haven for every two-bit leg breaker who thought he could make it in the Big Apple. Trish is aiming to prove otherwise.

 

But still. She’s late and Trish is going ahead anyway.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

She skids on to the street just in time to see Trish — still using just a hoody to hide her identity — send one of the thugs flying across the sidewalk with what looks like a casual push. But she seems to be completely unaware of the fourth thug coming out of an alleyway behind her, already reaching beneath his jacket.

 

Fuck!

 

Jessica doesn’t even think, just sprints straight for him, tackling him as he finishes pulling his hand out, holding whatever it was. They’re both down on the ground and she’s already punching, punching, punching. She might not be trained, might not super strong, but she’s always been scrappy and…

 

And…

 

Their rolling around on the floor has smeared crimson over the sidewalk.

 

She looks down. 

 

Oh, crap. 

 

He had a knife.

 

Oh crap, he had a knife, and it’s now in her.

 

Oh crap.

 

The man in front of her disappears, jerked away by the arm, courtesy of an enraged Trish.

 

An enraged Trish…

 

A dangerous Trish, and she can’t help flinching away, clutching her arm, flashing back… and toppling over onto the sidewalk, suddenly too drained of energy to move.

 

The last thing she says before she fades to grey is “Please, Trish. Don’t hurt me…”

* * *

Jessica’s next solid memory is regaining consciousness in a hospital bed, Trish gazing worriedly at her, twisting her hands.

 

“So, what’s the damage?” Jessica croaks. She then has a brief internal freak out, because she’s in a *hospital* and Trish doesn’t have a job and… then remembering that she actually has health insurance of her own for once in her life.

 

Huh.

 

Maybe there are advantages to this whole full-time employment thing. Though being stuck here is going to wreak havoc on her sick leave.

 

Trish must see something of this because she reaches towards Jessica before flinching away again. “Sorry,” she says and then, “You’re safe. You’ve just got some stitches, some antibiotics and an instruction to take things easy. Apparently the knife managed to avoid anything particularly important. There’s a very insistent policewoman who wants to see you, though.”

 

Jessica groans, loudly. “Police? Typical.”

 

“Yes,” Trish says blandly. “One might almost think you’d been stabbed.”

 

Jessica circles back to Trish’s flinch, and then… She prodded cautiously at what she’d been thinking just after she was stabbed, when Trish…

 

Shit.

 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe it’s time they actually talked about… what had happened with that limey fucker. Or at least how it’d ended.

 

However much Jessica despised even thinking about talking about feelings.

 

“You know it wasn’t your fault,” she said, eyes focussed on the blankets covering her legs.

 

Trish gives a not quite convincing laugh. “What? I know. It’s not like I encouraged you to go dive on a knife.”

 

Jessica glances up. “That too. But also… not your fault you hurt me when Kilgrave told you to kill me.”

 

Trish huddles in on herself. “Do we really have to talk about this now?” she asks miserably.

 

Jessica laughs harshly. “Well it isn’t like we’ve managed to talk about it any other time.”

 

Trish just huddles even tighter, if it were possible.

 

“Look, that limey fuck ordered you to kill me. You didn’t. End of,” she says. She tries to make herself sound certain, but her voice breaks in the middle.

 

It hadn’t been that simple.

 

It hadn’t been that simple at all.

* * *

She’d gone looking for Trish after a month of being blown off. She’d thought — she’d honestly thought — that Trish had just gotten burnt out on her life always being in the public eye and decided to just fuck off. The few times she’d managed to speak to her, she hadn’t sounded like she’d fallen off the wagon, just that she was tired of Jessica’s shit.

 

Which Jessica had found all too easy to believe.

 

But, just for her own peace of mind, she’d gone looking for Trish after a month. Just to check up on her, no matter how pathetic it made Jessica feel.

 

She’d eventually caught up with her and immediately known something was wrong. Trish was just… so submissive to the guy she was with, listening and deferring to everything he said. She was never like that with her boyfriends. Jessica had waited until she could catch Trish alone, but Trish wouldn’t listen to her, just claimed that she was in love with ‘Kilgrave’ and walked back to him. Jessica had gone with her, arguing all the while.

 

That had been her first mistake. The fucker had smiled slimily, then told her to go away; told her that Trish didn’t want her anymore. And Trish had agreed, and Jessica had agreed, and they’d all fucking agreed.

 

Jessica had been so upset that she hadn’t even realised something was wrong until almost a week had passed, and she’d decided to go back for round two.

 

Mistake number two.

 

She could still remember that slimy fuckhead saying, “I thought we’d already been through this before. Patsy, get rid of your annoying stalker of an ex-friend.”

 

Trish had advanced on her, grabbed her arm and started shoving her towards the door. 

 

Fuckhead had sighed. “No, Patsy. The window.” He’d grinned, yellow teeth showing. “I want to see how far you can throw her.”

 

Trish’s grip on her tightened, so hard that Jessica’s bone had creaked and given way beneath it. She’d screamed, staggering, but Trish still hadn’t let her go.

 

For the first time, it’d really been driven home quite how helpless she was before Trish if Trish had felt like it, and she’d never been so scared in her life. Scared Trish would do it, just throw her through the window.

 

Then Trish had just released her, letting her drop to the ground, turned towards Kilgrave and stiffly walked towards him as his commands grew increasingly more shrill before she finally grabbed him and wrung his neck.

 

Then she’d collapsed on the ground and started weeping.

* * *

“You’re still scared of me,” Trish says quietly, still looking down at her lap. “You try and hide it, but every so often you slip and… and I hate myself all over again.”

 

Jessica grinds her teeth together. “I’m not. Not usually, never rationally. It wasn’t your fault. I know that. You know that. And whatever’s left… That’s my shit to deal with, not yours.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Trish says, starting to shake a little. “Just tell me if you want me to leave. Please. It’s easier than just wondering.”

 

“Ugh,” Jessica says. “Feelings. Really, Walker?” Trish looks at her mutely with wet eyes. “Okay,” Jessica says with a heavy sigh. “But I want you to know I’m only doing this under protest.”

 

Trish lets go of herself and relaxes. “Thanks,” she says, seeming like a great weight has been lifted off her.

 

“Ugh,” Jessica says. “Next you’ll be wanting to have a hug,” she complains.

 

“What?” Trish says, sounding a little confused. Jessica just looks at her. “Oh,” she says and comes over, slowly, cautiously, arms open, giving Jessica every opportunity to object.

 

“Ugh,” Jessica says yet again as Trish’s arms finally close around her, but it’s not so bad, not so bad at all and when Trish finally lets go, she’s smiling damply.

 

“If you’re having problems with your shit, maybe you should see a therapist as well.”

 

“No chance,’ Jessica says firmly. “Reciting street names so isn’t my thing.”

 

Trish’s phone goes and she takes it out and looks at it.

 

“Who is it?” Jessica asks, trying to crane around to see.

 

“Zabel,” Trish murmurs absently. “We were going to meet up now. I’ll just text her and tell her I can’t make it.”

 

Jessica raises her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t connect in that way?” she asks, despite a twisting in her belly that’s nothing to do with the knife injury.

 

Trish blinks. “Oh, we didn’t. This is just a friend type meet up. Talk, drink coffee, maybe watch something. That sort of thing.”

 

“Oh,” Jessica says. “In that case, invite her here, if she’s up to it.” She grins maliciously. “It feels like I should have a chance to vet your new best friend.”

 

“She’s- I’m-” Jessica clutches her stomach dramatically and Trish throws up her hands. “I give up. I’ll text her, see what she thinks.”

 

“Excellent,” Jessica says in her best super villain voice and Trish glowers at her.

* * *

Zabel is short and dark, with an infectious smile that Jessica can’t quite hate, despite how predisposed she is to doing so.

 

“Jessica,” she says, bounding forwards to stand by Jessica’s bed and, okay, maybe that energy is a little obnoxious. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She slides a glance towards Trish, who is looking a little pink in the cheeks.

 

Interesting.

 

“All bad, I hope,” Jessica says.

 

“Oh, no, not at all,” Zabel enthuses and Trish makes a noise halfway between a whimper and a groan. “Oh, um,” Zabel amends. “Completely bad. The worst.”

 

“Nice to know my reputation precedes me,” Jessica says dryly. 

 

Zabel looks at her a little uncertainly and Trish intercedes with, “She’s just being grouchy because she’s in hospital.”

 

“What’s wrong?” Zabel asks. “Trish didn’t say.”

 

“I was mugged,” Jessica says. “Man. Alleyway. Knife. Very simple really.”

 

“Oh,” Zabel says, trying for fierce, managing something like a puppy baring its teeth. “I hope they catch him.”

 

Jessica shrugs and elects not to tell her that he probably won’t be using that arm for anything for a while.

 

Zabel is… not entirely awful, Jessica has to admit. But after about half an hour, Zabel becomes a bit much. Luckily Trish reads Jessica’s increasing irritability correctly and ushers Zabel out before returning.

 

“So,” Jessica says. “That’s Zabel.”

 

Trish nods cautiously. “She’s a good person.”

 

Jessica makes a face at that. “I can see why you like her anyway.” She smirks. “It’s certainly not for her pokerface. What did you tell her about me?”

 

Trish blushes bright red. “Ah, not much really. That you’re my best friend and that you’re a grumpy sour puss. Things like that.”

 

“Huh. Really? Because that is *not* the impression I got from her.” Jessica considers for a moment. “I really have to invite that girl to poker at some point.”

 

“No,” Trish says firmly, the red starting to fade from her cheeks. “You are not going to take advantage of Zabel like that.”

 

“It would be a little like clubbing a baby seal,” Jessica says. “So, what did you tell her?”

 

Trish looks trapped for a few seconds, before mumbling something that Jessica doesn’t quite catch.

 

“What was that?” she asks.

 

“I said that I first figured out that I might like girls because of my crush on you,” Trish says, flushing, refusing to meet Jessica’s eyes.

 

Oh. It’s not that Jessica didn’t have an idea that might be it, but hearing the words…

 

Oh.

 

She swallows for a few moments, unable to find words. Trish must take this for a sign, because she continues, the words almost falling out of her mouth. “I didn’t want to tell you because I thought that you might think I was pressuring you, or that you might feel obligated to say yes, or something, and I didn’t want that. I really didn’t want that. I’m happy with you being my best friend, Jess. Really. Always have been.”

 

“How- how long?” Jessica manages.

 

Trish shrugs. “Maybe when we were in high school. A little. But nothing could happen then, because… for so many reasons. Mother, my career, Mother and…” she takes a deep breath, releases it, “I thought because you were staying with us that you might…”

 

“God, Trish,” Jessica bursts out. “Do you even know me?”

 

“I didn’t know,” Trish says miserably. “I wasn’t sure, not completely. Not that it mattered. I just shoved the whole thing into a corner of my mind and refused to think about it. And that worked. Until after Kilgrave, when you were always there and so concerned and I… I thought it might just be a trauma thing. An unhealthy thing. And it wouldn’t have been fair putting that on you, and it was so scary to even think about…” she takes a breath. “So I decided to try it out. Dating girls. And Zabel was wonderful. But I kept on talking about you, which kind of put a damper on things.”

 

“Trish Walker, lady killer,” Jessica says, taking refuge in sarcasm.

 

Trish casts around for something to throw at her, finally settling on her jacket. “Hush, you. I’m… I’m still not certain that I’m in a place to be dating anyway, but…” her shoulders finally relax. “So, yes. It’s been nice hanging around with Zabel, even if we’re not dating. So?” she says, looking a little anxiously again at Jessica.

 

“So?” Jessica repeats. “It’s fine. It’s all fine. I mean, I should have known that you couldn’t resist this,” she says, waving towards herself with one hand, trying for arrogance though she’s really not feeling it.

 

Trish. Having a crush on her. Maybe for years?

 

Oh.

 

Hang on… “Was this why you moved out?” she asks, then deflects with, “I thought it was that I hogged the shower in the mornings.”

 

“Maybe a little,” Trish admits, “but mostly not.”

 

“Well, good,” Jessica says. Trish, wanting to kiss her. It’s still hard for Jessica to wrap her head around. It just seems so… improbable. Trish has always been so way out of Jessica’s league, as a friend, let alone anything…

 

But Trish, kissing her.

 

“So,” Jessica says, mouth dry, going for casual. “If a woman was interested in exploring their sexuality…  any suggestions?”

 

Trish stares at her, hard. “Not funny, Jess. Really not funny.”

 

Jessica stares back at her, riding high on adrenaline. Or maybe painkillers. Hard to tell. “I wasn’t joking. I…” Okay, it’d be shitty even for her to say that she can’t get the image of Trish kissing her out of her mind, that maybe she wants to go there.

 

Even though she does. She really does. She’s only beginning to realise how much that appeals to her.

 

Trish is still staring mutely at her, and finally Jessica whispers, “Fuck, Trish. You know you’ve always been too good for me.”

 

Trish reaches forward, laying her hand on the bed in front of Jessica, who takes it with her hand, her bad hand.

 

And somehow it seems enough, for now.

* * *

“You really sure you want to do this?” Jessica asks, looking at Trish in her yellow and black costume.

 

Trish grins at her. A little shakily, but a grin nonetheless. “Like I’m going to let Kilgrave take anything away from me. Even this,” she says and, really, Jessica can’t help herself from leaning forwards and kissing her thoroughly and very messily for that. And even though she musses Trish’s hair very thoroughly, there don’t seem to be any complaints.

 

They hear, rather than see, the creeps they’ve been after walking below and Trish pulls away reluctantly. “They’re playing my song,” she whispers in Jessica’s ear.

 

“Go get ’em,” Jessica says and Trish jumps lightly off the building.

 

“Halt!” she says and Jessica can’t help grinning at her ever-corny hero dialogue.

 

“Oh fuck,” one of them says. “It’s Hellcat!”


End file.
